Corona

Coaster sticky, Crested foam of shitty beer. The loam viscous Like the salty crust when you were near. Beautiful, the lies you told me. Pageantry, the story you wove me. The brush of lips linger from the last breath of words that broke me.   Thank you for reading, ~ Victoria Elizabeth

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Manifesto

I want to be me. Not what anyone assumes of me. I’m a sexual person. I won’t be ashamed of it. I want to have sex. Lots of it. I want to read my books without being called a nerd. I want to write my fucking poetry without someone cranking up some shitty movie to…

A new poem: Wednesday Night

I don’t really have an introduction for this poem, other than the fact that it’s not my usual, optimistic self. My apologies, in advance, for the language used. _________________________________________________ Wednesday Night   “You’ll love your first time,” she said, a knowing wink, a lustful grin. “I did.”   Shanelle, breasts and ass bursting forth, cantaloupes…